My Brother's Girlfriend
by Science-Fantasy93
Summary: If there's a brothers' guidebook out there, rule #1 would be "Brothers Do Not Fall For Their Brothers' Girlfriends".  But I broke that rule, and all hell is about to break loose.  This is how I, George Weasley, fell in love with Hermione Granger.
1. Chapter 1  1 Too Many Bottles

_**Hi everyone! How's everything going for you guys?**_

_**For those of you who are reading "Trials and Tribulations of a Wizarding War" I am still working on it, but I'm having a little trouble getting past one particular part, so it might still be a while, but I'll post it as soon as I finish the next chapter, I promise!**_

_**So this is an idea that's been on my mind for a few months, but I didn't begin writing it until last night. I stayed up until almost 2:30 AM, trying to get it down on virtual paper. It's different than what I usually write - Hermione/Draco and Harry/Ginny - but I think it's a good difference, plus it's a lot of fun getting into George's head, trying to pinpoint the way he might think :)**_

**_Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I don't own Harry Potter, just the plot, and I'm not even making money off of that, it's just for enjoyment._**

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**Chapter 1 – 1 Bottle Too Many**

"George Weasley, you are going to stop this foolishness right now!" she screamed at me, inches from my face.

I smiled sweetly at her and raised the firewhiskey bottle to my lips again. "Try and stop me. Go on Hermione, you're the brightest witch of our age, show me what you can do."

She glared ferociously at me. "You are being an absolute moron! I know you're grieving for Fred, we all are, but that doesn't mean you can just sink into a shell of your formal self."

I took another swig from the bottle. "Sure I can. Honestly, I'm enjoying being a shell of my formal self, it's so nice and peaceful. No one telling me what to do, no one bothering me, no one trying to change me. Just me and the bottle and my drunken thoughts."

"Thus the point," Hermione snapped, pointing an accusing finger at me. "Your _**drunken thoughts**_."

I shook the last few drops of the alcohol into my mouth. "What's the point again?"

"YOU'RE DRUNK!" she screamed as loud as she possibly could.

I saw someone that was passing by the shop halt and stare around a bit nervously at Hermione's shout. I smirked.

"Hermione, if you keep yelling at me, people are going to think this place is haunted by violent ghosts."

"I DON'T CARE!"

I shrugged. "Well, all right then, have it your way. Shout all you want, but if you excuse me, I have plans for this afternoon."

"With another firewhiskey bottle?" she asked cynically.

I smirked again. "Actually yes. But that's just the first part of my plan. I'm hoping that by five-o-clock this afternoon I'll be passed out in my own vomit. Now wouldn't that be a lovely picture for Mum's photo album?"

Hermione frowned and I could tell she was trying to figure out whether or not I was serious. I wasn't too sure myself – the passing out part didn't sound so bad, it would help me stay numb. However, the other part, about the vomit? Yeah, that didn't sound so appealing. Maybe I could figure out how to skip over that piece of my plan.

After several heavenly seconds of silence, she propped her hands on her hips and fixed me with a furious glare.

Although, truth be told, it wasn't all that terrifying, she just thought it was, mainly because Ron and Harry both cower under it. They probably have a good reason that they haven't shared with me, but until they decide to open up about it, I'm not going to bend over backwards every time she wrinkles her brow and squints her eyes at me. It's against my very nature.

Plus, there's the fact where I rebel against any kind of discipline and establishment. And Hermione's like a Minerva McGonagall in training. Any day now she'll start wearing her hair pulled back in a tight bun and she'll never go back.

It'll be a sad day indeed when that finally does happen. Oh well…

"You know what's really terrible?" she demanded, looking extremely pissed off by this time. Yeah, I was quaking in my dragon-hide boots. Totally. Uh huh. Why wouldn't I be? Doth I protest too much?

"You've just realized you have no sense of fun?" I suggested, propping my feet in said dragon-hide boots up on the desk, amidst a whole bunch of official-looking papers that been there for three months, since March.

Her face immediately went red, and her eyes narrowed even more than they already had. She was such an easy target, she really set herself up for those comments.

"_**No**_!" she snarled. "The fact that I have no idea whether that comment about you planning on passing out in your own vomit was a joke or your actual plan."

"That might be because you have no sense of humor either," I told her.

"I HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR!" she screeched. It was amazing that the glass in the windows hadn't shattered by this time. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S LOST IT!"

Now this was just getting insulting.

I sat up straight, slamming my feet back onto the ground. "I have a sense of humor," I informed her, absolutely affronted.

"Prove it! You haven't created anything for the joke shop for ages!"

"Forgive me," I retorted. "Forgive me, my brother just died, I know that's a tiny thing to be upset about, but I can't help it, I've always been over-emotional."

She stalked over to me and for a split-second I thought she was going to slap me, but instead she knelt down in front of me. She took my hand in hers. "George, no one blames you for what you're going through. We all miss Fred, and we all wish he was still here. But you're completely losing your mind! You're drinking yourself into oblivion almost every day, you just sit around the flat, moping and eating waaay too much ice cream and potato chips, and you haven't been to your house since the funeral. You haven't seen any of your family or any of your friends since we all buried Fred. We miss you George. We feel like we buried you with Fred."

"Well maybe you did," I said, pushing her away and getting to my feet. "Maybe we buried my identity, my heart, my brain, my sense of humor when we lowered Fred's casket into the ground. Because everything I was, I shared with Fred. So when he died, I lost pretty much all of who I was."

"No you didn't," she insisted as she got to her feet, wiping tears away from her eyes, and making me wish I could cry myself. I hadn't shed a tear since the Battle of Hogwarts. "He was a huge part of your life, yes, but he didn't make you who you are, he didn't shape you! George, you have to believe that! You can't just give up! Fred wouldn't have wanted that, he would have wanted you to move on, to laugh, to crack jokes, to get on with the joke shop, to make it the best effing joke shop in the world! Can you imagine what he would say if he knew you were cooped up in a dark flat with the shop locked down, drinking yourself to death?"

"He'd tell me to get my head out of my arse," I replied, and felt a small tugging at my lips; not a smirk, but something else…

She nodded and smiled. "Exactly. That's exactly what he would say."

I heaved a huge sigh, just as the alcohol finally hit me. Shit.

I couldn't have told you how much I had had to drink, but I had gone through a few bottles before Hermione had unexpectedly shown up. It was just part of my daily routine, getting drunk before dinner time, and going through the rest of the evening and night passed out.

I must have been drunk when I had said all those things to her, about my identity being so tied to Fred, because I wasn't one for opening up to anyone else, especially not my little brother's girlfriend. But I had gotten so used to the feeling that I hadn't recognized it, which couldn't be good. Lately the alcohol had been hitting me suddenly and out of the blue, because I wasn't able to tell the different between sober and drunk, and the same was true for today. This did not bode well.

I stumbled and fell against the wall, crumpling to the ground in a ball.

"George!" I heard Hermione cry as she hurried over to me. "Oh my God, how much have you drunk?"

"Seven bottles, give or take a few," I mumbled, and she shook her head disapprovingly, clucking her tongue all the while. I think that might be her favorite sound, because it seems like every time she was around me she made that noise. But maybe I was just lucky.

"Come on," she said, gripping me around my arm. She managed to drag me to my feet – the girl was surprisingly strong, even though she was almost as small as my sister, who practically qualified as a midget – and haul me in the general direction of my bedroom…which I used to share with Fred.

I immediately dug my heels into the carpet.

"George!" she cried out in frustration. "Move!"

"No, just – just bring me over to the couch, I've been sleeping on it anyway."

She made a face. "Why on earth would you want to – ?"

"I just do, all right?"

"Fine," she agreed, still sounding like she was considering checking me into an insane asylum first thing in the morning.

She led me out of the office and towards the sitting room. "Your place is a mess, you know," she informed me.

"Thanks for the update."

"You should really get a maid."

"I'm not working, so how am I supposed to afford it?"

"Good point. Maybe I could suggest to the others – " I was assuming she meant my family – "that we come over here and look after you, clean the place up, just until you're fully functioning again."

The girl was unbelievable. One minute she was screaming at me that I needed to get my arse in gear, and the next she was cooing about how I needed looking after. I had to feel sorry for Ron, imagine being stuck with someone like that. She probably couldn't even decide where she wanted Ron to take her for dinner. Poor bloke.

Sadly, I seemed to have lost control of my tongue, because the next second I had been shoved rather violently onto the black leather couch with her climbing on top of me and shaking me as hard as she possibly could.

"YOU BASTARD!" she was back to screaming at me at the top of her lungs. I must have said what I had been thinking…I had to wonder what the Daily Prophet would be reporting when they learned that I had been murdered by the female and brains of the Golden Trio. God, it would be just my luck that Rita Skeeter was the one who was assigned to the case. She would probably make it sound like I had been hitting on Hermione, and then Ron would end up spitting on my grave and Mum and Dad would be ever so disappointed in me because brothers don't steal brother's girlfriends. And all because I had had one bottle too many.

"You really think Ron's _**stuck**_ with me? You feel _**sorry**_ for him because he's dating me? Wha – would you rather he was with the Gryffindor slut, Lavender Brown, still?"

I struggled under her grip, trying to throw her off of me, but it was impossible, I didn't have enough control over my muscles at the moment. But maybe I could steal her wand so she couldn't hex me…

"Of course not!" I tried to assure her. "I remember her, she was already a piece of work when I knew her, he's better off with you!"

"Oh, so he's better off with me, but you still think I'm too pushy and controlling and indecisive to be with him."

"Did I say _**pushy**_ and _**controlling**_?" I asked, frowning, because honestly I couldn't remember.

"It was implied!"

"Well, well, well, who'd have thunk it? The Gryffindor bookworm, the brains of the Golden Trio, the Chosen One's best friend, is insecure. Wow, the Daily Prophet is going to eat this up."

"Don't you – what the hell are you doing?"

My fingers had reached her jeans pocket, where her wand was stowed.

"Thanks," I said with a grin as I pulled it out and quickly shoved it down my shirt.

"You're not a girl, so that's not going to work half as well for you as it would if it was – say – me."

And she reached under my t-shirt and yanked it out.

"You know, I'm pretty sure that could be construed as sexual harassment," I whined. "I wasn't a willing participant."

"Pervert," she snapped as she climbed off of me and pushed her wand down the top of her dress. Now that was just unfair.

"And yet you're the one with the wand in your bra," I retorted.

"Hey, it's my wand, not yours! If it was yours then there would be a problem, but it's not, so it shouldn't matter. Plus, it's _**my**_ bra, and what goes in it is my business and no one else's!"

"Don't tell me you stuff your bra," I begged. "Because handkerchiefs are so passé."

"You are such a boy."

"Hmm, yeah, that's what the healer said when Mum gave birth to me. I guess not much has changed."

By this time, the room was beginning to spin, and I knew I would be unconscious before long. But I was hoping I could get Hermione out of here before then, because who knew what sort of jinxes she would use on me when I was defenseless and unprepared?

"Hermione, you know, it's going to look pretty suspicious if someone catches you here."

An alarmed expression caught her face. Like I said, so easy.

"What, why?"

"Well, think about it – this entire flat is littered with firewhiskey bottles, enough for two people. And here I am, lying on the couch, looking all too comfy for my own good, and you're not exactly dressed like a sloucher."

She blushed and smoothed out the blue sundress she was wearing. "Oh, thank you. I'm planning on meeting Ron at the Unicorn Room in a little while, but I wasn't sure how long this would take, so I thought I'd better get ready for my date first."

"Oh," I said, trying to focus on one object and not on the spinning room as a whole. "Well you look fantastic. Ron will be blown away."

Her face went an even deeper red but she smiled. "Thanks. You know, I'm not the only one who has issues. You can't decide whether you hate me or like me."

"I like you," I assured her. "Especially when you're dressed like that and have your wand down your top. It's a sexy look, you can really pull it off – " And as luck would have it, that's about the time I passed out.

Merlin, I was in a shitload of trouble.

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**_So what'd you guys think? Was it any good? Did you like it? Did you love it? Did you hate it? Any suggestions or criticisms that you guys might have, I'm more than happy to hear, because I want this story to be the best it can be! Any questions about the story, anything that I might not have explained as well as I should have, I'll try to incorporate the explanations into a later chapter. So let me know what you think of the first chapter, because I absolutely love hearing from you guys, it always puts me in a good mood! =)_**

**_Lots and lots of love,_**

**_Science-Fantasy93 ;)_**


	2. Chapter 2  Recovery and Sunshine

_**Whoo! Chapter 2 is up! Finally! I was trying to get Chapter 3 done - and it still isn't - but I thought I'd put this up while I was working on it =)**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I J.K Rowling - I don't live in the right country.**_

_**Evelyn: Thank you so much for reviewing, and I'm glad you gave first POV a chance! =)**_

_**To everyone who has already placed an alert on this story, favorited it, or author alerted or favorited moi, thank you so, so much! =)**_

_**I hope you like the chapter!**_

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**Chapter 2 – Recovery and Sunshine**

"Merlin, how could he stay awake for so long, there were enough firewhiskey bottles in here to keep Mundungus happy for a year." That was what I awoke to. Ah, my dream alarm clock.

"He's been drinking himself crazy for over a month," Hermione said back to Ron. "I didn't even realize how drunk he was until he suddenly couldn't stand by himself any longer. I don't think he realized it either."

"Bloody mad." I could just imagine Ron standing there, shaking his head, thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets. "I mean, I knew he was bad, but I didn't realize he was _**this**_ bad. He's really messed up."

And if he kept talking about me like that, his _**face**_ would be messed up.

"He's hurting," Hermione said, her voice softer and gentler now. "You should have heard what he was saying to me before the alcohol reached his brain. He thinks his entire identity was connected to Fred's, like they share one."

"Well they are – _**were**_ – twins," Ron corrected.

"Yes, but they were – are? Whatever – individuals, no matter whether they were twins or not."

"I dunno…I mean, I don't know about any of the others, but I never saw one without the other. And their personalities were so similar. The only noticeable difference was that Fred had a little more luck with girls, but goodness knows George had his fair share of admirers."

I smirked. Maybe I wouldn't be screwing up his face after all.

"Fine," Hermione huffed out. "So they were a lot like each other. But they were still their own person. And George needs to realize that, otherwise he'll never be able to move on."

"I s'pose…" Ron's voice trailed off. "Hey, he didn't bother you in any way, did he? I've never really seen him drunk so I don't know what he's like."

"No," Hermione assured him, much to my shock. "He was fine. Honestly, I couldn't tell the difference."

"Oh, good," Ron sounded relieved. "I was worried he might have acted like a total sleazebag or something."

"You are aware that I can hear you, aren't you?" I called, finally opening my eyes.

Hermione and Ron, bless them, were standing about five feet away from the couch where I was laying. Smart kids.

Hermione stared at me and then whipped back around to Ron. "He's awake."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Gee, really? I thought it was the sofa that was talking."

"Which then would officiate you as certifiably crazy," I informed him. "What're you doing here anyway? Hermione and I were doing just fine on our own, thank you very much."

"You're not very good company when you're unconscious," Hermione quipped at me. "Besides, I was going to meet him anyway, and I thought he might be interested to know his brother was becoming an alcoholic."

"That is an exaggeration!" I protested. "I'm not even close to becoming an alcoholic, I've just been drinking a little too much on a regular basis."

Hermione and Ron both raised their eyebrows at me.

"There's a difference; hello people, use your brains."

"Sure, tell yourself whatever you want," Ron told me. "Come on Hermione, we have reservations for seven, and it's a quarter to."

"Oh sure, just leave me here all by my lonesome with a wicked hangover." Because yes, I had just sat up and could feel my head splitting down the middle. Which, by the way, was just about the most pleasant feeling ever. You know, right after getting stabbed in the eye with a sharp stick, but before having a bludger dropped on your foot.

Guilty expressions crossed both Ron and Hermione's faces.

"Why don't you go to the restaurant and order us appetizers?" Hermione suggested to Ron. "I'll stay here with him and play nurse."

"Play what?" Ron and I both asked at the same time.

"It's – never mind. I'll stay here and take care of him."

"Are – are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Go on, I'll meet up with you soon."

"Well…okay…Hope you feel better George." You'd have thought I had a cold, not a hangover, with that chirpy last goodbye. Next thing I knew he would be sending me flowers and a _**Get Well Soon**_ card.

Ron left, and it was just Hermione and me again.

I shifted under the blanket that one of those two crazy kids had covered me with, and suddenly noticed, amidst the severe eye-rolling pain in my head, that my aching head was lying on top of something rather soft and comfortable.

I reached up and felt a pillow under my head.

"All right," Hermione said, suddenly all business. "I'll get you a pan incase you need to throw up, and I'll get you some hangover potion – you do have that don't you?"

"No, I've just been living with eye-watering splitting headaches every day for the last month," I said, layering the sarcasm on.

She scowled at me. "Where is it then?"

"In the kitchen, on the counter next to the stove."

"Fine, I'll go get it."

"And could you bring me some water or pumpkin juice? It tastes like troll piss."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the description. "You are so amazingly classy I can't even believe it."

I smiled innocently at her. "I try."

She stalked out of the room, her high heels clacking against the floor, and straight into the kitchen. I could hear her rummaging around in the next room, and a moment later, she reappeared with a small vial of the hangover potion and a glass of pumpkin juice. I could see the condensation forming on the glass.

She handed me the potion.

"Thanks," I mumbled, and uncapped the potion before tipping it back into my mouth. Merlin, that potion had the worst taste ever! Seriously, the description I had voiced to Hermione had been generous. You would think I would simply learn to stop drinking. Sadly though, I never seemed to learn lessons the easy way, or even the hard way at times. Just a curse that followed you around when you were George Weasley.

I swallowed the potion and immediately handed the vial back to Hermione, my expression imitating hers after she heard my comparison of the hangover potion to the urine of a troll. She took the vial and in exchange gave me the glass of pumpkin juice. I gulped it down, trying to coat the taste of the potion.

At last, the vile taste was gone, and I could breathe and swallow properly again.

"Thanks," I repeated.

"Not a problem," she said brusquely. "Well, I guess I'll leave now."

"Yeah, you should go, Ron's waiting. And about what I said earlier…" I paused, wondering which part I was apologizing for. "Just, forget everything I said before. I was drunk, I didn't know what I was saying, I didn't mean any of it. Well, I meant the part about you looking good, but everything else was just the alcohol talking. Seriously, I wasn't hitting on you or anything, and I don't really think Fred's and my identities were one and the same."

She smiled gently at me. "Of course they're not, you are your own person."

"You sound like a self-help book."

She laughed. "Thanks, I try."

She turned to leave, and had almost reached the door, when she suddenly stopped and turned back around. "You know George, I would tell you not to drink again, to just forget the alcohol, and take up another hobby, maybe try to come up with some new ideas for the joke shop…but I don't think it would do any good. You're falling too fast, and you won't be able to stop until you've hit rock bottom. I just hope you hit soon, and have something to catch your fall, because your family can't stand anymore pain."

And with those inspiring and cheerful words she spun around again and walked out of my flat, closing the door behind me.

Well, that certainly gave me something to think about, which I'm sure was what she had intended. But unfortunately for her and all of her brilliant schemes to get me back to normal, I wasn't in the mood to think. What I really wanted was food. But I wasn't really in the mood to cook, so I decided to head to the Leaky Cauldron. I could hear the latest gossip, maybe buy a newspaper, and actually see people. Hermione would approve.

But first, I needed a shower, and maybe a shave. I wasn't sure if the paparazzi were going after us Weasleys, but I wasn't willing to take chances. There was no way in hell I was going to be featured on the front cover of Witch Weekly with a head-full of greasy hair and two days worth of beard scruff on my face.

I quickly stripped and climbed into the shower. I washed quickly, but still managed to enjoy the feeling of the steaming hot water cascading down over my back and shoulders. It helped to clear my mind, and I began thinking about what I would like to get at the Leaky Cauldron. They had killer beef stew, almost as good as Mum's. Plus, they had fantastic roast beef sandwiches. They put everything from tomatoes to lettuce to onions to melted cheese to Portobello mushrooms on them.

I finally climbed out of the shower and wrapped my body in a towel. It was only then that I noticed that my body was going to crap. I had once been toned and muscled from Quidditch, and had kept the conditioning up after Hogwarts, but in the last month, my once spectacular physique had become…well…not so spectacular. I would have to work on that; no way was I going to look like Percy, who couldn't even knock a bludger out of the way properly without hollering in pain and complaining that he had just strained his arm. Ah, beautiful memories.

I shaved, taking extra care not to cut my skin – can you imagine the headline that would appear if Rita Skeeter got a picture of me with a bandage on my chin? It would probably read something along the lines of _**George Weasley, Twin Brother of War Victim Fred Weasley, Cuts Himself**_. And trust me, she would not mean in the whole oh-darn-I-cut-my-chin-shaving way. Nope, she would mean it in the I-can't-take-any-more-bloody-emotions -I-need-to-feel-physical-pain way.

Once I had finished shaving – and didn't draw any blood – I dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, slipped my feet into my favorite Converse sneakers, grabbed my money bag, and headed out. I trampled down the stairs, through the closed down shop, which now just looked like a ghost of what it had once been, and through the front door, outside into the bright sunlight.

The sunshine hit me in the eyes like a thousand pointy knives that had just been sharpened. Damn, when was the last time I had been outside? I couldn't remember. Not a good sign.

Blinking and trying to keep my head down as much as I could, I stumbled across the street and in the general direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

People whispered and pointed as I walked by them, but honestly, I couldn't summon the energy to give a damn. If they were happy for me, thrilled that I had finally gotten through my recluse stage, then good for them, nice to know they were looking out for me. But if they were muttering about how far I had fallen, then I had two words for them: _**Fuck you**_.

I finally slammed in through the Diagon Alley entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and breathed a sigh of relief. The pub was sparsely crowded, and no one was the bar. Thank God for small miracles.

I walked over to the bar and slid onto a stool. "Hey Tom," I greeted the bartender.

"Hello George," he said with a toothless beam. "Nice to see you out and about, haven't seen you for awhile."

"Yeah, I've been dealing with some stuff. Hermione Granger finally told me to get off my arse and start living again."

Tom laughed. "Ah, that girl. Feisty little thing, that one. Spunky like. Your brother's a lucky bloke. Of course," he added quickly, "she's a lucky bird as well, with him as her boyfriend."

I smiled, actually smiled, at him. "Thanks Tom. Yeah, they're both lucky. Both as crazy as ever though. I can't imagine how Harry's dealing with them together."

"He comes in here sometimes to say hi and eat when he needs to get away from the pain and guilt. He's not having an easy time of it either, but he's got your little sister, Ginny. She almost always comes in with him. And occasionally Ron and Hermione will join them. I imagine your house is a bit packed, and just plain draining."

I cocked my head in confusion. "How so?"

"Eh, I shouldn't say. If you don't know, then I must've heard wrong."

"But haven't _**you**_ heard? I haven't been back to my house since Fred's funeral, so I don't know what's going on there."

"Oh. Well…I dunno, it's none of my business, really."

"Tom, please, I need to know."

"Well, I s'pose…All right, all right. Your mum and dad apparently aren't doing so well, they've taken Fred's death hard. Well, it's to be expected, he was their son. But Percy in particular…he feels terrible. He abandoned the family for nearly three years, and then his little brother dies, fighting against the people Percy joined."

I bit my lip. "But Percy joined us in the end. And besides, he was never a death eater."

"Still, people's minds play all sorts of games with them. He's filled with guilt, and it's eating him away."

I shifted. I knew the feeling, although I'm not sure guilt was what I felt. Anger maybe. Grief for sure. But guilt? In the beginning I had, I hadn't been able to understand why Fred had died and I had survived, but that was the one emotion I had been able to work through. But Percy…he had been there when Fred had been killed…maybe he was wondering the same thing I had.

Now I really did feel guilty. My family was going through so much, and I had had no idea. What if one of them hadn't been able to take the pain, and had committed suicide? How would I have felt then? How would everyone else have felt?

But at the same time…they were probably better off without me, until I could handle their own pain and guilt and grief without sinking into a depression of my own. Of course, I was pretty much already there, so maybe it wouldn't make a difference.

What I did know was that, even though I had finally gone outside for the first time in weeks – which was huge step for George the Recluse – I was far from ready to see my family. Ron was fine, but the grief didn't seem to be eating away at him, like it was doing to Mum and Dad and Percy.

But Harry…Ginny…

"How's Ginny?" I asked. "How's Harry? They're okay aren't they?"

"They seem to be," Tom said as he wiped a wet glass with a towel. "Harry's getting ready to enter the auror training program in the fall, and Ginny will be going back to Hogwarts, so they're spending as much time together as possible."

I nodded. It was nice to hear that they weren't wallowing in their grief. I knew Harry had gone through more losses than what was imaginable. First Cedric Diggory, then Sirius…Dumbledore was next…Lupin and Tonks of course…Colin Creevy…and Fred…

"Now," Tom said as he set the glass down. "What can I get you? You look like you haven't eaten in weeks."

I smiled (again! If I wasn't careful, this could turn into a bad habit) weakly and said, "A bowl of beef stew and a roast beef sandwich?"

"Right you are, they'll be up in flick. Would you like something to drink?"

"You have no idea," I muttered. I was beginning to get the craving for a good firewhiskey, but I knew it wasn't advisable at this point. Hermione had accused me of being an alcoholic. I had to prove her wrong.

"Uh…yeah…just a butterbeer I guess."

"Coming right up." He reached down under the counter and pulled a bottle out. He smacked it down in front of me, and I unscrewed the cap before taking a drink.

Well, it wasn't firewhiskey and it was only strong to house-elves, but it would have to do.

"Here you go." Tom set a bowl nearly overflowing with beef stew down in front of me, quickly followed by a plate with a sandwich sitting on it.

"Thanks," I said gratefully. "How much?"

"Eh, it's on the house, you look like you could use a good meal."

"Oh, come on, you can't just give away your stuff free!"

"Well…tell you what, you throw in a Skiving Snack Box, those are a huge hit with the breakfast and lunch customers who want to get out of work for a few hours."

I smirked. Two years ago, when Fred and I were first starting up, we gave all the shopkeepers one of the more simpler versions of Skiving Snack Boxes, to be given away as free goodies with each purchase or meal. They had been a huge hit at Hogwarts, and apparently they were even more popular with the customers, because we had all the Diagon Alley business people in our store on a regular basis, stocking up on Skiving Snack Boxes and any other small items they could get their hands on.

"Sure," I agreed. "We – I mean _**I**_ – have a few of them still lying around, I'll bring you one tomorrow."

Tom nodded with satisfaction and left me to my meal.

I ate and then headed out, thanking Tom for the food. On my way back to the flat I stopped by a newspaper stand and bought a copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry was on the front – surprise, surprise – with the headline _**The Chosen One's Secrets: Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter!**_

I snorted, and wondered if Harry had actually sat down to that interview, or if the reporter had been taking a hallucinogenic potion when they wrote the article.

The street was less crowded now, and I decided to walk around Diagon Alley before returning to the flat. It had been awhile since I had been outside, after all.

I padded down the street, hands in my pockets – one hand on my wand though, as one can never be too careful – just enjoying the feeling of late evening. It was cooler than it had been, and it was now growing dark, but there was no ominous feeling, unlike when Voldemort was at the peak of his reign of terror.

I wasn't paying attention to where I was going, so it was a shock to find myself standing outside the Unicorn Room…and staring at one snogging couple.

I would have recognized Hermione's hair anywhere, and as for Ron…He was a Weasley through and through.

One hand was on her waist, and the other was entangled in her hair, while her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.

As I watched, feeling like the creep that I was and the pervert that Hermione had called me earlier, he took his mouth away from hers and instead began kissing down her neck, to her shoulder.

And for some reason, some strange, insane reason, I didn't like that. Not in the least. He had no right to be kissing her like that! She was a respectable girl, not some common whore! And right there in the public, where creepy people who apparently had no objection to voyeur-tendencies could watch and spy on them! I mean, talk about not having any respect for his girlfriend!

And then it occurred to me that I was apparently one of the creepy people with no objection to voyeur-tendencies because I was watching them. It also came to mind that Hermione wasn't exactly pushing him away. In fact, judging by the blissed-out look on her face and the way she was now gripping his hair, she was enjoying it.

Which, somehow, only made me feel worse.

As quietly as I could, I backed up into the shadows, and hurried away, hoping that no one would see me spying on the snogging couple, and praying fervently that I would never have to witness any sort of romantic or sexual altercation between Ron and Hermione ever again.

With that disgusting image burned in my brain coupled with the fervent need for a firewhiskey, I rushed back to my flat and immediately snatched up the nearest bottle of firewhiskey I could get my hands on. The funny thing was, as I uncorked the bottle, I kept seeing Hermione's face, her last words to me echoing in my brain: "_**You know George, I would tell you not to drink again, to just forget the alcohol…but I don't think it would do any good. You're falling too fast, and you won't be able to stop until you've hit rock bottom. I just hope you hit soon, and have something to catch your fall, because your family can't stand anymore pain**_."

And then I flashed forward to how I would wake up the next morning: Lying on the floor in a puddle of my own vomit, broken firewhiskey bottles around my aching body, my head pounding like I had just been hit in the temple by a bludger. Was it worth it?

* * *

**_Soooo...how was it? Did you guys like it? It's not quite as humorous as the last chapter, it's definitely a little more serious, but hopefully it still works. So let me know what you think, your reviews make my day, and I will always reply to them - either through the Fanfiction reply URL or in the next chapter =)_**

**_Lots and lots of love,_**

**_Science-Fantasy93 ;)_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Hi everyone! Here's chapter three! This is my longest one so far - 11 pages and 4,938 words!_**

**_To everyone who's been waiting for this chapter - I am sorry! Fanfiction has been having some sort of error going around, and it wouldn't let me update!_**

**_Disclaimer: I kind of doubt that J.K Rowling would be on writing George/Hermione fics, but for the sake of argument, no, I am not, nor have I ever been J.K Rowling. Peace out everybody!_**

**_A HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who has story alerted, story favorited, author alerted, or author favorited this story or me! And of course THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed!_**

**_Anyway, enjoy this chapter!_**

* * *

Chapter 3 – Gringotts and Boutiques

There was no doubt about it. I was going through firewhiskey withdrawal. How else do you explain the fact that when I got back to my flat, all I did was stalk around it, breathing heavily, feeling way too energized for my own good?

I hadn't been able to drink from the bottle. Her face kept swimming in front of me, her words still ricocheting through my head. It sounded as if she was ready to give up on me. Somehow it made me feel even worse, because she was the one who had been the most concerned. She was the one who cared enough to even come and check on me.

All right, I knew that wasn't completely true. Fred and I were identical. Looking at me would be like looking at a reflection of him, and I was sure my family would struggle with that, the same way I would fight against my sanity when I finally saw them again, seeing at the people who wouldn't be able to look me in the eye, or even be in my presence without running out of the room sobbing.

Naturally, these rather depressing thoughts didn't do much for my energy level.

I decided the only thing to do was to get some good exercise in. Hadn't I just been thinking earlier that my body was going to pieces? This was the perfect excuse! Maybe I could kick the alcohol habit and instead become an exercise addict. I liked that idea, and decided that that was definitely something to aim for.

So I changed out of my jeans and t-shirt and pulled on an old pair of gym shorts and an even older t-shirt from a Weird Sisters concert that I had stolen from Bill's room. I couldn't remember how he had managed to afford to go to that concert. Hmmm…maybe he had snuck in…

I laced up my running shoes, did a couple of stretches to warm up the muscles in my legs, and took off back outside.

I ran up and down the street, through the criss-crossing roads, and dodged through alleyways. I ran long and hard, feeling my feet ache every time they hit the cobblestones, my chest heave when I drew a breath, and my heart pound out a furious rhythm. But it was the best I had felt since the Battle of Hogwarts, and I was thrilled.

It was very late when I finally returned to my flat. I began variations of sit-ups, worked through arm strengthening moves with dumbbells, and did a whole bunch of stretches to help improve my flexibility.

It was nearly three-o-clock when I finally crawled into bed – I mean onto the couch – but for the first time in quite a while, I was happy. It was also the first time in over a month that I was actually _**going to bed**_, rather than passing out completely wasted.

Of course, the next morning completely sucked.

I was going through withdrawal _**again**_.

I also had a splitting headache and a growling stomach and the only thing I had in my flat was a half-eaten bag of potato chips. Not exactly nutritious, but it was a start.

Once I had torn through the bag of chips, I immediately began to go stir-crazy, just as I had the night before when I had gotten home for dinner. But I ached all over from the intense workout, and really wasn't in the mood to put my body through that torture again for at least another day.

I was just beginning to pace the flat again when there was a knock on the door.

Yes! Something to do!

I nearly ran to the door – or I would've if, you know, my legs hadn't felt like someone had taken hammers to them – and threw it open…to see Hermione standing there. She was in shorts and a tank top this time, and her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail.

"Okay you," she said the second she saw me. "We're getting rid of all of your alcohol."

I stared at her. "And how do you know I'm clean and sober?"

"I was…er…standing outside with Ron last night and we saw you run by. If you were drunk you wouldn't have been able to move like that. And now…you look much better, like you actually give a damn whether you're a total mess or not."

"Thanks for the compliment, you're a real charmer," I informed her.

"I'm not here to be complimentary; I'm here to help you. So come on, we're getting rid of all your alcohol, so that you won't be tempted."

"Fine," I agreed, and stood back to let her in. "But just so you know, there's no point, because I'm not an alcoholic."

"Judging by the way your place looked yesterday, yes you are."

And that was when it occurred to me that my flat was no longer a complete and total mess. "Did you and Ron clean it up?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact we did."

I couldn't decide whether I was touched or creeped out. "Why?"

"Because we couldn't bear to see you living in a total dump."

I decided I was touched.

"Oh…well…thank you."

She smiled. "Not a problem. Now come on, let's get your firewhiskey bottles thrown out."

"And what, pray tell, are we going to use to throw the bottles away with? I don't have any garbage bags."

Her smile widened. "Didn't you tell me yesterday that I'm the brightest witch of our age?"

"I was drunk."

"Not the point. Here, I'll show you." And she conjured several bags of some sort of shiny, soft material out of thin air.

"What are those?" I asked.

"Plastic bags."

"What's plastic?"

"It's – never mind, it's a muggle material, but that's not the point. Come on, grab every single bottle of alcohol you have, and put it in here. And when we're finished, I'm going to go back through and double check to make sure you're not hiding any under your bed."

"You are really suspicious," I told her.

"Just part of my charm."

We went through my flat together, grabbing bottles from all of the nooks and crannies I had stored them in over the past month. It took nearly two hours, and another two bags, but finally we were both satisfied that my flat was an alcohol-free-zone.

Once Hermione had used her wand to vanish the bags, she smiled in satisfaction. "Good, you should have a lot more room now that the firewhiskey bottles are gone."

I tried for her sake to grin in appreciation, but all I could manage was a grimace. Was there anything like holding a nice hot bottle of firewhiskey in your hands, knowing it was only you and the bottle, and that before long you would be a nice, wonderful numb?

"Now," Hermione said in her infamous no-nonsense tone of voice, "it's time to go shopping."

"Shopping?" I whimpered. "Please tell me you're not going to drag me to Mistress Witch's Outfitters – or worse, Master Warlocks!"

Hermione smirked. "You're in luck, there isn't any clothes shopping on the agenda. Instead, we're going to get you food – actual food, not just chips and ice cream."

"They're food!" I protested as she summoned my wallet (I knew I should have put an anti-summoning spell on it) and stalked out of my flat, prodding me to dash after her. "Potato chips are made out of potatoes, and ice cream is made out of milk and a bunch of other stuff."

"Yes, but it's unhealthy."

"I'm twenty years old, I can take it!"

"But you'll be regretting it when you're forty years old, now hurry up, we haven't got all day!"

My God, she was bossy. Whatever had I done to be made into one of her charity projects? Whatever happened to spew – I mean, S.P.E.W? Time to find out.

"Hey," I said as we hit the cobblestones. "Whatever happened to S.P.E.W? Back in school you were pumped for it, but I haven't heard you mention it once."

She shot me something that resembled a glare that hadn't quite progressed to adulthood yet. "Oh, I'm still working on it, but I've been busy. Sadly, my attention has been focused elsewhere."

"You know," I said hurriedly, "if you want to focus on S.P.E.W rather than, say, me, I would completely and totally one-hundred-percent understand. No, seriously, the house-elves need you more than I do, you'd be doing the world a favor by forgetting me and my problems and helping those poor ug – I mean _**adorable**_ – house-elves out of enslavement."

She smiled sweetly and patted my arm. "Don't worry George, I would never abandon you! You're more important, you're practically family. I'm going to help you through you're problems no matter what!" she finished with determination, fist raised to show her resolve.

Once again, my would-be grin made my face look completely contorted. I probably resembled a tall, thin, red-headed goblin. "Thanks," I managed to choke out, and she patted my arm again.

"You're welcome. I assure you, when we're finished, you'll be almost as good as new."

Not as good as the original product, but nearly. Apparently when she was finished with her Give-George-A-Makeover project, I would still only receive four stars because I would be a used item, rather than a new one. That's the way to help someone out of their depression!

"Er…where are we going?" I asked a bit apprehensively. I wasn't sure I wanted to know where she was going to drag me, because I had a feeling that if I found out I might need to request a barf bag.

"Gringotts first, and then we'll go from there," she answered, and sure enough, within a few seconds we came within sight of the wizarding bank.

"Are you even allowed in there?" I asked, suddenly struck by another burst of inspiration. "After you and Ron and Harry broke in?"

She shrugged. "We had to give the sword back, but we were pardoned, since we did it in order to save the world from Voldemort."

"And the goblins accepted that explanation?" Now I really was interested. Goblins were sticklers for rules with 'absolutely no exceptions!' How many times had Fred and I been chased out of there because we had been trying to get a loan from the bank so that we could begin our joke shop? That was before Harry won the Triwizard Cup and handed his prize money over to us of course. But before that…I'm pretty sure Fred and I were on the goblins' list of lock-the-doors-and-windows-if-you-see-these-people. We might even have made number one. Well, maybe number two, after Voldemort. Ah, beautiful memories…

Hermione pressed her lips together into a grim smile. "Let's just say the goblins had some persuasion from some of the wizards who worked there. I think a couple of aurors might have been there to – ahem – oversee proceedings."

I stopped right there in the middle of the street, just feet from the steps that would lead up to the bank, and spun around to look at her, giving her my best steely-eyed gaze.

"And since when do you, Hermione Granger, protector of all creatures, approve of bullying goblins?"

"It – it wasn't bullying!" she insisted, her face a mask of horror. "I swear! There was no violence or underlying threats except for the – the – the – "

"The aurors there," I confirmed.

"But it wasn't like they were doing anything. They were just the security guards, to make sure things didn't get out of hand. Plus Griphook was one of the goblins at the meeting, and he betrayed us! He was ready to throw us in Azkaban, never mind that he had helped us break in and that Harry had saved his life. Of course," a spark of triumph seemed to gleam in her large brown eyes and a slightly smug lip turned the corners of her mouth up, "he was ranting and raving so much that eventually he got thrown out of the meeting. At least, that's what Bill told us."

I immediately perked up. "Bill was there?"

She nodded. "I suppose you wouldn't have heard. Yes, he was there. He got promoted there, you know. He's now training the newly-recruited curse breakers before they head off to Egypt or wherever else they're excavating at the moment. I think there might be a few pyramids in South America, and they think they might have found the real Dracula's tomb, but that's still up in the air. But it looks like if they really did, then Bill might get shipped over to Transylvania, because they'll need as many experienced curse-breakers as they can get, since Dracula's not exactly known for being a sweetheart."

"How's he enjoying it?" I wanted to know. "Teaching? He never struck me as someone who would want to instruct other people, he was always very hands on." We began moving again, up the stairs.

"Oh, he loves it, it's probably just going to be a temporary position, but they need people instructing the newer people, because they keep finding places that have heavy curses on them. Some courtesy of Voldemort, but it's like now that he's gone, all of these places that have been hiding are able to come back out now. Maybe he hid them or something, he probably had use for them at one point.

"But you're right," she continued on, "he misses the action and danger of breaking curses."

"But I bet Fleur's happy," I commented as we walked in through the doors and into the marble hall.

Hermione shrugged. "She's glad he's safe, but she also knows that there are days when he's frustrated with the lack of action, and that's something she understands, she's a bit of a risk-taker herself." She paused. "We're all having a hard time adjusting from being in danger twenty-four-seven for nearly a year to being safe and not having to worry about an attack on our lives. If one of us walks into a room without knocking first, we'll find half a dozen wands pointed at us."

I choked back a laugh at that. I could imagine it very clearly, and even though the reasons for the paranoia weren't humorous, the mental image was.

We reached the long counter and stopped in front of a goblin who was chewing on what looked like uncooked ground beef mixed in with raw liver and steamed onions. And this is why very few goblins run successful restaurants. _**Excuse me, could I get a raw hamburger please, with a side order of liver and onions? Oh, and could you leave the liver uncooked? I'm trying to poison myself, and I hear this is a good way to do it. Thanks, you're darling**_.

The goblin raised his lip back in an ugly sneer when he laid eyes on Hermione and I automatically put my hand on her waist to draw her closer to me. She looked a bit frightened. Not that I could blame her, those goblins were even more hideous when they were counting the ways they would like to kill you. Never mind the reason why they want to kill you is because you saved them and their race from slavery. Nope, you just stole something from one of the evil wizards who would have used them as a whip sharpener.

Makes sense, doesn't it?

I cleared my throat and the goblin tore his tiny eyes away from Hermione. "Mr. Weasley," he hissed. "How – _**nice**_ – to see you."

I got the feeling that when he said _**nice**_, he meant something else entirely. Probably something along the lines of _**why couldn't you be killed in the Battle of Hogwarts so that I don't have to deal with you anymore**_? Always nice to have positive reactions.

"Yeah, you too," I answered, even though I couldn't have told you what his name was to save my life. "Anyway, I'm here to get some money out of my vault. Er – Hermione, you have my wallet. My key's in there."

"Oops, of course," she amended quickly, pulling the key out of the wallet which she still clutched, and slid it across the counter to the goblin, who picked it up and held it to one of the oil lamps, as if he thought we had made a copy in order to break into my own vault.

"Of course, right this way." He hopped out from behind the counter and led us down the corridors to where the carts were waiting for us.

I nudged Hermione in the side. "Keep an eye on him," I muttered in her ear. "He might be plotting to lock us in one of the vaults."

"I don't think he could," she responded just loud enough for me to hear as we climbed into the cart. "As long as it's your vault, you'll still be able to get out."

I opened my mouth to say something else, but at that moment, the cart lurched forward and the next second we were hurtling down the tracks, twisting around pinwheel turns, plunging nearly straight down at one point, and taking so many turns to the left and right that I was soon very dizzy.

I felt something sharp digging into the veins of my right hand and cut my eyes to Hermione who was clinging to my hand, her eyes squeezed shut, her other hand – the hand that wasn't currently breaking through the skin on my hand – holding on for dear life to the side of the cart.

That's right – Ron had once mentioned that she hated heights and anything that had to do with them.

I squeezed her hand right back and spent the rest of the ride down there trying to figure out how to comfort her without getting my hand ripped up by her talons.

We must have been riding in that cart for a good ten minutes before we finally came to a sudden – and rather painful – stop in front of Fred's and my vault. Hermione went sliding into me, and I grabbed her before she ended up straight in my lap. I had the distinct impression that Ron might not like that.

"Come on," I coaxed her. "We need to get out of the cart, you'll feel better once you're on solid ground."

I helped her out of the cart as the goblin looked on, tapping his foot impatiently. Whatever happened to that old theory? You know the one – _**the customer is always right**_. It was such a good one, but I guess goblins didn't think wizards were ever right, even if we're the reason they're rich.

"About time," the goblin snapped. "How on earth did she manage to help defeat the Dark Lord if she can't even manage a ride down to her boyfriend's vault?"

"Well, you weren't involved in the defeat," I replied coolly. "And she's not my girlfriend, my younger brother's going out with her."

The goblin glared at me, but inserted the key in the vault's lock and twisted. At once the door melted away. Hermione pulled a small drawstring bag out of her purse and handed it to me. I took it and darted into the vault and began stuffing galleons, sickles, and knuts into the bag, trying to do it as quickly as possible – I didn't trust that goblin.

The ride back up to level ground was a little better, except for the feeling that at any second the cart might lose momentum and we'd pummel back down to the very bottom of the bank.

Hermione and I were both shaking as we got out of the cart and proceeded to make our way out of the bank. After the darkness of the lower levels of Gringotts, the sunshine was almost as bad on my eyes as it had been when I had left my flat for the first time the day before.

"Where to next?" I asked Hermione as we stumbled down the steps and back onto the cobblestone pavement.

She checked her watch. "Actually, I never had breakfast, and it's still early enough for lunch. Why don't we head to The Hungry Hippogriff and get something to eat?"

I nodded. "That sounds fantastic. All I've had is a half bag of potato chips."

She smiled. "I thought it might have been something like that."

She led the way through Diagon Alley to the outdoor café, a couple of streets over from where the Unicorn Room stood.

"Have you eaten here often?" she asked as we walked down the cobbled stone street, blinking in the bright sunshine.

I nodded. "I used to come here with Fred for lunch when we were working on a new product. It was nice to get out of the shop once in awhile."

Hermione nodded. "I can imagine."

We sat down at one of the outdoor tables and signaled for a waiter to come over.

"So you and Ron huh?" I commented as I opened a menu and began scanning through the lunch specials.

"What?" She looked up at me.

"You and Ron are officially dating?"

She blushed rose pink. "Yeah, we are."

"About time. We've been telling Ron to get his arse in gear for ages. It's about time he finally took our advice. Honestly, he was the only one who couldn't see what was right in front of him. Well, anyway, you have my blessing," I added, smiling at her. "What in Merlin's name are you blushing for?"

Her face turned even redder. "N-nothing."

I rolled my eyes. "Wha – did you think I was going to ask about how far your relationship has progressed? I might ask Ron that in private, but I'm sure as hell not going to ask his girlfriend. That would be wrong on so many levels I can't even think about it. You know," I continued on, trying not to laugh, "if you blush any deeper your face is going to be on fire."

I had never seen a brunette turn that deep of a red, but somehow Hermione managed to.

"Shut up," she told me before hiding her face behind the menu while I rocked with laughter.

It took me a few minutes to calm down, but I finally did. "So what're you going to get?" I asked

her, trying to change the conversation topic before she hexed me into one of those vaults in Egypt with a mutant skeleton.

She reappeared from behind the menu. "The split pea soup sounds fantastic."

I nodded. "That's always a good choice here. I think I'll have that too."

I waved for the waiter to come over to our table and we placed our order. Once the waiter was a safe distance away I leaned forward and said in a low voice, "I feel like I should give you 'the talk' about my brother."

"What talk?" she asked, looking alarmed.

"Well, there might be some things I should warn you about."

"Besides the fact that he's a slob, eats with his mouth open, and uses all the hot water up?"

I stared at her. "Er…"

She waved her hand. "Please George, I lived in a small, cramped tent with him for nearly six months. I should know him pretty well by now."

I had to hand it to her – she had a point. And if she still wanted to be with him despite all of his faults and tendencies, then it must be true love, and who was I to stand in the way of that?

The waiter brought our soups along with a breadbasket and a bowl of butter and we both immediately reached for the food.

"So what're you planning for the upcoming year?" I asked as I spread butter over a piece of white bread.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts, to finish up school," she answered. She blew on a spoonful of soup before gingerly taking a sip.

I dumped nearly half a container of salt and pepper, each, over my own bowl of soup and took a bite myself. Absolutely worth the five galleons it was going to cost me.

"Why am I not surprised?" I said teasingly after I swallowed. "I suppose you'll be awarded head girl as well."

She blushed again, but she looked rather flattered instead of embarrassed. "Oh, I doubt it. I wasn't there last year, I'm sure there'll be someone else who'll be made head girl. Luna perhaps."

"She missed half of the last year," I pointed out. "If you don't end up head girl, it'll half to be someone who was there the entire year."

She tilted her head in agreement. "What about you? Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

I paused. "I dunno. I think I'll continue the joke shop, if only to honor Fred's memory. But I'm going to try to expand it."

"You'll need help in that case. Perhaps you could ask your family…?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson. Maybe I can get Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell to help as well."

"Why Angelina?"

"She was dating Fred before he died."

Hermione's face crumpled. "Oh…I didn't know that…poor Angelina…I can't imagine what she's going through!"

I bit my lip. In the month since Fred's funeral I had barely thought about Angelina, and it had never once crossed my mind how much pain she must be in. I would have to visit her soon, if nothing else but to lend my moral support.

"You should expand the shop out to Hogsmeade!" Hermione suddenly cried. "I don't think anyone has bought the building that Zonkos used to be in. Hogwarts students are going to need a new joke shop, if for no other reason than to torment Filch."

I chortled. "I'll think about it. Maybe I'll do that."

"Yeah! And if you do, I can help at the store in my free time!"

"Since when does Hermione Granger have free time?" I asked in mock surprise.

She stuck her tongue out at me. "Yay or nay George."

"Neither. Let me think about it. But I am tempted."

"Good. Expanding the joke shop might be just what you need. Maybe you could move out to Hogsmeade instead of living in the flat here in Diagon Alley. You need new scenery."

"Yeah, cuz it's not like I spent seven years of my life in that area," I retorted.

"But it'll be a change of pace! Come on George, you have to do this!"

"I said I'll think about it and I will," I promised her.

We finished our food and then she insisted on dragging me to every store that sold anything that she thought might liven up the flat. This meant that I was forced to wander through Madam Monique's Boutique (yes, that is the real name – catchy right?), tracking my way through a jungle of lamp shades and bangled scarves while doing my best to hold my breath so as not to breathe in the heavily perfumed air.

"Merlin's beard Hermione," I said softly as she pulled me over to look at new bed sheets. "It's like being back in Trelawny's classroom."

She ignored me and instead asked me my opinion on a set of striped bedding.

By the time we left the shop – I mean _**boutique**_ – I was laden down with new sheets, a new bedspread, a new rug, several new oil lamps, and enough scented candles to send Trelawny over the edge in ecstasy.

With a wave of her wand she sent the packages back to the flat before grabbing my hand and apparating us into muggle London, right outside a grocery store. She yanked me in through the automatic doors (yes, I know what they're called – my dad loves anything that has to do with muggles and electricity, remember?) and snatched up the nearest cart. Once inside, she pretty much did my shopping for me. All I was required to do was trail along behind her with my hands in my pockets, daydreaming about new products for the store.

She paid for the groceries and once we were in an empty alley transported them back to my flat as well.

"Well," she said as she turned to look at me. "I guess that just leaves one more thing to do."

"Which would be?" I prompted her nervously.

"George," she said gravely, clapping a hand on my shoulder, "it's time to see your family again."

Oh _**fuck**_.

* * *

**_So...what'd you guys think? How am I doing on George's character so far? I don't usually write fanfictions from first person, so I'm a little curious as to how well I'm writing George's character. So let me know what you think! I love hearing from you guys, and I appreciate every single review that comes in! =)_**

**_Lots and lots of love,_**

**_Science-Fantasy93 ;)_**


	4. Chapter 4  Hello, I'm Your Son

_**So...it took me awhile...Sorry everyone! I got writer's block, but I've been slowly working on this chapter, and today I kicked myself in the butt and told myself to just finish it. So here it is! Sorry if it isn't fantastic, or if it's a little dry, or something. A good portion of this chapter is from Hermione's POV, and before this, I had never written her in first person before, so it was a definite change. But I hope you all like it, and I hope I wrote her okay.**_

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_**Disclaimer: Do I write like J.K Rowling? No. Does Science-Fantasy93 sound like J.K Rowling? No. Is Hermione/George a canon pairing? No. So no - I am not J.K Rowling.**_

_**Enjoy the chapter everyone! =)**_

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**Chapter 4 - Hello, I'm Your Son**

"Her – Hermione! Please – I mean – you can't honestly – you can't possibly –_** WHY**_?" the last word came out as a wail. Passerby gaped at us, looking at me like I was crazy or something.

Hermione pressed her lips together sympathetically. "George, you need to face them sooner or later."

"And I was hoping it would be later."

"And they miss you. They don't know if you're okay or – "

"Can't you just tell them that I'm doing fine?" I pleaded.

"They'd rather see you in person."

"Hermione, I just stopped drowning my sorrows in bottles of firewhiskey. I may have gotten cleaned up, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to see my family again!"

"George, if you keep putting this off, you will never see them again. How would you like it if you found out that one of your brothers had gotten married and you weren't there at the wedding? I bet that would make you feel pretty lousy about yourself."

"But what if seeing my family again causes me to crack and head right back to the firewhiskey?"

Hermione got a steely look in her eyes and she set her jaw determinedly. "We'll deal with _**that**_ possibility _**later**_." It sounded like a threat of unwanted help – which, when I thought about it, was exactly what she had been doing for me for the last twenty-four hours. She had helped and helped and helped, and I had never even wanted her to show up at my flat in the first place. Merlin, this girl was meddlesome. How could Ron even put up with her?

Luckily this time my mouth seemed to know to keep shut when my brain was going on a Hermione-inspired tirade, because otherwise I would have found myself pinned up against the alley wall with my sweatshirt choking me while I tried to gasp out an apology. My dream way of dying that was _**not**_.

"Come on," Hermione prodded, holding her hand out to me. "Just give it five minutes – actually, let's make it twenty."

"Five sounds good to me," I insisted, bobbing my head agreeably.

She smiled in amusement. "But I think you're family would prefer twenty."

I hesitated, thinking this over. I was terrified of seeing my family again. They would be a reminder of Fred, of Lupin, of Tonks, of everyone who had died during the Battle of Hogwarts. They would remind me of the cost of war, of the cost of our freedom. They would remind me of how selfish I had been for the last month. And most of all, they would remind me of the hot, fiery pain that even then, standing in the alleyway with Hermione, smoldered and sparked deep inside of me, in my very soul. And I knew I would be a reminder – an identical reminder – of Fred. It wouldn't be easy for them to see me again.

But if Hermione was right…if they really wanted to see me…

"Come on," Hermione pressed. "Just take my hand. I'll lead the way. Just take my hand."

With a deep breath I nodded and placed my hand in hers. My heart picked up pace as her fingers clenched around mine and she twisted on the spot, taking me with her.

Everything around me was blurred and muffled. Apparition was number one on Wizard Travels magazine list of most uncomfortable ways of traveling (riding on the Knight Bus was number two). It was basically the equivalent of being squeezed into a rubber tube that didn't quite fit around your body properly. It also smelled like it, which didn't help matters.

Our feet hit solid ground and we both staggered slightly, trying desperately not to topple over on my mother's shining floors. My mother…

"GEORGE! Oh Merlin! My boy's back! Oh sweetheart!"

Suddenly I felt the breath that I had just regained get knocked out of my again as my mother threw herself at me.

"Mum…" I couldn't think of what to say, so instead of wasting time on figuring out the right thing to say, I just wrapped my arms around her.

"Oh Georgie," she sobbed against my chest, her entire body shaking. "I was so afraid that we might never see you again!"

Over the top of my mother's head I could see Hermione leaning against the counter, beaming proudly. Congratulations Granger, you have just earned your diploma in _**Meddling in Family Affairs**_.

"What is going on in – oh…it's you…"

I immediately stiffened up at the cold tone in Percy's voice. I broke away from Mum and turned to find Percy, his horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. Nevertheless, the tone of his voice said it all. He was pissed off at me, and it was just his love and respect for Mum that had kept him from launching himself across the room and punching me in the face. Well, that and the fact that even when he was ten and I was eight I could still cream him. Granted, I usually had Fred with me…but those were just technicalities.

"Percy…hey…what's up?" I smiled at him weakly, but his expression turned from a white slate to completely icy.

"Nothing," he replied, his voice completely flat. "Nothing at all."

Well…that…was…inviting…

What now?

* * *

I frowned as George's poster stiffened even more. I knew Percy had every right to be angry with George, but he really didn't have any right to judge. He had abandoned his family for three years. George had only disappeared for a month, and if you thought about it, he had a hell of a lot more right than Percy did to retreat from his family. So what on earth did Percy think he was playing at?

"What's going on down here?" Ginny appeared in the kitchen doorway, her long red hair pulled back in a high ponytail.

"Gin, look who's here!" I grabbed her by the hand and pointed with my other hand at George who was still having his stare down with Percy.

"George?" Ginny's voice was layered with disbelief and shock. "Wha – what're you doing _here_?"

"Can't I come and visit my family once in awhile?" he said in a would-be light voice, wrapping an arm around his younger sister.

"So you finally realized that you do have a family?" she retorted, although she placed an arm around his waist as well.

"I never doubted that," was his response.

I turned to look at Percy. "What are you doing home anyway? Shouldn't you be at work?"

He sniffed huffily. "I, unlike _some_ people, believe in spending time with my family."

Ginny rolled her brown eyes. "Oh, cut the crap Perce, the only reason why you're home is because Audrey told you that she really values people who have close relationships with their families."

George snorted, some of his uneasiness trickling away. "Oh, that's Percy, Mr. Close-Knit. Anyway, who's this Audrey?"

Percy sniffed again. If he wasn't careful, he was going to go back to his prefect days, when he couldn't go an entire sentence without sniffing distastefully at one of us. "_Not_ that it's any of your business," he said in his most cultured, most important voice, "but she is a young woman who I am working with at the Ministry."

"Basically she's the woman of his dreams, but she remembers him from school as being a stuck-up prat, and quite honestly…how did she put it? Oh yes. And quite honestly, she really doesn't see much of a change in him," Ginny added.

"So he's trying to change noticeably, thus the whole 'where have you been, you are a dishonor to your family' routine I heard him pull on you," Charlie said as he came bounding down the steps, grinning through a brand new burn on his right cheek. "But it's true – it's about time you showed up!" and he wrapped George in a bear hug, before stepping back and nodding at me. "Hermione, I'm impressed. You've been at the job for – what? – a whole day-and-a-half and you've already got him coming over

here."

I smiled. "I wouldn't quite call it a job, it's just a matter of getting him to let go of the past and embrace the future."

"Seriously," George called over to me, "you should be in the greeting card business. Or maybe we can get you your own advice column in the _Daily Prophet_. How do you feel about the name Madame Psyche-Granger?"

"I feel very murderous towards it," I quipped back at him. "So does this mean that everyone else is at work?"

"Yes dear," Mrs. Weasley answered. "Arthur is at the Ministry, Bill is training new curse-breakers, Fleur is working somewhere at Gringotts, and Harry and Ron are both in lectures right now. I believe the topic of the lesson for today is _how to keep your face from being blown up_."

"Why would they be in lectures?" George asked, frowning in confusion.

"They need to go through a required six week classroom period, where they learn the theory behind everything. Once they've passed the written exams, they'll continue into the main point of their training. They'll be boarding at a special training camp for that, from September and on. They'll get weekends off though," Ginny reeled off. "Plus holidays. They have a really similar schedule to Hogwarts, actually."

"Sounds difficult," the ever-so profound George commented. "I'd hate to be in their pointed hats."

"I don't think it's really so bad once you get into the routine of it," I put in. "Just the first few days or so are tricky. But Harry and Ron both are handling it very well. Their goal is to be able to be out in the field by this time next year."

Mrs. Weasley shuddered. "That is not something I'm looking forward to, any of us. They've already risked their lives for so long, why on earth would they want to continue putting themselves in danger?"

"Mum," Ginny said patiently, gearing up for the response that she had perfected ever since Harry and Ron had told the Weasleys what career they were planning on going into, "it's not that they want to risk their lives, or put themselves in danger. They hate that they'll have to do that. But they feel – both of them – that the best thing that they can do with their lives is to save people from evil, from dark wizards essentially, and the only way they'll be able to do that with any measure of safety is by joining the auror forces. Anyway, most aurors don't die when they're following orders or their own hunches. It's when they actually do go out and do something stupid, like falling head-first into a trap, that they end up dead. Look at Kingsley and Tonks and Moody. Tonks and Moody didn't die in the 'act of duty'. They died so that the rest of us can live. And Kingsley has gone on to become the full-time Minister of Magic. So really, becoming a dark-wizard catcher is a very safe job."

"Tell me what was off about that last sentence," Charlie said as he sat down right on the table.

"Because I don't think, and mind you, this could be my imagination, that _dark-wizard catchers_, and _safe_, are generally used in the same sentence."

"You just used them in the same sentence," George pointed out.

"I meant the way that Ginny put it."

Before any of us could join the conversation, Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands together. "George, you must stay for dinner, Honey. It has been so long since we've had a family meal. And if I remember correctly, you were never one for cooking."

"That would mainly be because he kept blowing up the stove," Percy said snidely. "You ruined a perfectly good beef casserole, you know."

"I don't know, considering _you_ were the one who made the beef casserole," George retorted.

"And thus it must have been good. I don't make mistakes."

There was a lot of "ahem"s and "oh really"s in that kitchen. Percy blushed all the way up to his horn-rimmed glasses. "Well, of course, what I meant to say was, with the technical stuff…that is…I'm terrible with all this family stuff…you know, because it's all emotional…but really…Oh you know what I meant!"

George, Ginny, and Charlie all snickered while Mrs. Weasley hid an amused smile behind a hand. I couldn't help but grin a little either, and Percy shot us all bitter scowls.

"But really, George," Mrs. Weasley continued on as if Percy hadn't interrupted her, "you must stay for dinner. I'm make clam chowder."

George's eyes lit up. He's not one for seafood, but he loves his mum's clam chowder more than anything else in the world. Well, with the exception of a good prank of course.

"Well…" he said, hemming and hawing. "I suppose I could stay. It has been a long time since I've had a proper, home-cooked meal."

Mrs. Weasley nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I'll owl the others to let them know you'll be joining us. Oh, they'll all be so happy!" and she bustled off into the kitchen, singing a Celestina Warbeck song that had something to do with cauldrons and a potion made of love. Good thing Fleur wasn't there. Now if only I had earplugs.

"Hermione, I just got the new Weird Sisters' album! Come upstairs with me and listen to it," Ginny urged me, tugging me out of the room and up the stairs.

"Ginny, you bought the album two days ago," I reminded her.

"I know, but I wanted to talk to you alone," she said as we walked into her room. She closed the door, and locked it.

"So honestly, how in Merlin's name did you get George to clean up and agree to come and see us so quickly?" she asked me as she dropped down onto her bed. She stabilized herself on one elbow, so that she could lie on one side and watch me curiously.

"Quite honestly, I have no idea," I admitted. "I chewed him out yesterday, but I didn't think my words had hit home."

"Hit what?" she asked, confused.

"It's a muggle expression," I explained. "It means I didn't think my words had really sunk in."

"Oh."

"But…I dunno…something I said must've knocked him over, because when Ron and I were finishing up our date, we saw George running through Diagon Alley, in exercise clothes. And then this morning, when I went over there, he was clean-shaven and in actual clothes, rather than those sweats and tank top he was wearing yesterday."

"It's a miracle," Ginny agreed. She rolled over onto her back and stretched out, her t-shirt riding up to expose an inch or so of her stomach. I almost had to smirk. Harry would be so jealous of me. Speaking of the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, and Ginny's Boyfriend…

"So what did you and Harry end up doing last night?" I asked as I sat down on the edge of her bed. "Did you family get in the way?"

"Nope, I told them we were going outside to pick flowers. Mum and Fleur were the only ones who didn't buy the story, but they wouldn't say anything, they know what it's like to want some time alone with a boy. But it was really sweet. We talked for ages and…" she blushed. "You know Hermione, some of this _is_ a little private. Could we maybe not discuss what Harry and I were doing?"

"As long as you haven't been doing anything that would give the rest of us reason to panic," I agreed, and she smiled in relief.

"Oh, you know how Harry is, he's a perfect gentleman! I'm going to actually have to rip my clothes off and say straight to him what I want, before he'll even consider taking our relationship to the next level."

"Well, it's probably for the best," I told her. "I mean, you're only sixteen, and he's only seventeen, and you're going to go back to Hogwarts, and he's going to enter the Auror Combat Training camp, and really, neither of you need anything else clouding your minds. Plus, you just got back together, do you really want to rush it?"

Ginny smirked. "So, Nun Granger, how long have you been practicing the Speech of Celibacy?"

I could feel my face growing red. "I haven't! I just…really, I just want what's best for both you and Harry."

"So if Ron were to, suddenly, get smart about you, would you…?"

"We are not having this discussion! He is your brother!"

"I'm just saying Hermione, you need to practice what you preach. So would you?"

"I don't know! The question hasn't come up yet!"

"Well, it's probably for the best. I mean, you are only eighteen, and you just got together. Plus, you're going back to Hogwarts, and he's going into the Auror Combat Training camp, and neither of you need anything else clouding your minds. Would you really want to rush into it?"

I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her, and she started laughing. "So that's it huh? You're frustrated with Ron?"

"Only as much as you are with Harry," I shot back. "At least I'm not making plans to tear off my clothes and shove my boyfriend down on his bed."

"Disgusting images just popped into my mind of you doing that to Ron. Blech, I won't be able to look at you two the same way again for weeks."

"How do you think I feel knowing you're considering doing that to Harry?"

"I didn't say I was considering it, I just said that might be what it comes to. In a year or so, when nothing's in the way."

"Ohhhh…"

Ginny burst out laughing again. "Hermione, you do realize you freak out over the smallest things, don't you?"

I glared at her. "So I've been told."

"I'm just saying, you need to loosen up, relax, maybe not take everything people say quite so seriously."

"I'm working on it," I whined. "But it's not easy. And really, what if you actually were planning to do that to Harry? Don't you think I have a right to speak up?"

"Yeah, just as long as you don't forbid me from actually doing it."

"Like I would ever!"

"Actually Hermione, yes, you would."

I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to retort, but at that moment there were two loud pops, a couple of crashes in the kitchen, and the sound of Ron yelling, "You arse, it's about time you came around for dinner!"

The boys were home.

Ginny turned her head. "Come on Hermione, we'd better go downstairs. It's been an entire eight hours since I've last seen Harry."

Snickering, I got to my feet and we pounded down the stairs together, until we reached the kitchen. The tiny room was swamped with red-headed men, one black-haired boy, and one tall, blond woman. Ginny launched herself at Harry, who caught her and kissed her enthusiastically.

Ron was standing back, leaning against the counter, but his face brightened once he saw me walk in. I felt my cheeks grow hot as his eyes glittered, and I walked over to him so that he could kiss me hello.

"I missed you today," he said, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Just today?" I joked, and he gave me a very hurt look.

"You think so little of me!"

"Oh, that's not true at all. So how were the lectures?"

"Boring."

"I think Ron liked the speaker though," Mr. Weasley called over from where he was standing with Bill and George, his voice teasing. "A very pretty young woman who knows so much about curses…It's absolutely disgusting and morbid!" he added upon seeing his wife raise her eyebrows suspiciously. "Honestly, I would never even _think_ to set eyes on her! Uhhh…anything I can do for you, Molly dear?"

"You can come and help me chop up the potatoes for clam chowder," Mrs. Weasley said with a triumphant smile. "And make sure to skin them."

"O-of course dear. That sounds…enjoyable…"

Everyone chortled as Mr. Weasley followed Mrs. Weasley around to the stove, and the rest of us began to move into the sitting room.

"So the lecturer, hmmm?" I prodded, rounding on Ron with my hands on my hips. "She was very pretty, was she?"

"Not as pretty as you, Hermione darling," he mumbled quickly.

"Ooh, darling! Darling Hermione! No one's ever as pretty as you!" George called to me, and I gave him the two-finger salute.

"How would you like one of your pranks shoved up your – ?"

"So how was everyone else's day?" Charlie quickly asked, interrupting me.

"Well _I_, incase no one noticed, took the day off to spend with Mother," Percy said loudly and pompously. "Er, did Audrey by any chance ask where I was today?"

Everyone glanced at each other before simultaneously saying, "No."

Percy's face fell a bit, and I bit my lip in sympathy. "She probably just never got the chance," I assured him. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see you tomorrow!"

"I'm not going to work tomorrow – I'm taking an entire three days off!"

"Awful extreme for you, don't you think, Perce?" Bill spoke up. "I mean, if this girl can't like you for you are, then what's the point of changing?"

"Because she's right. But honestly, I'd really rather not talk about Audrey. Not in the least. Fleur, how was your day at Gringotts?"

Dinner was loud and rambunctious, and I could see George beginning to relax into the healthy insanity that was his family. The clam chowder was delicious, and for dessert, Mrs. Weasley brought out several chocolate cheese cakes (each one extra large), which she said was, "In celebration of having our family reunited once again."

Even Percy loosened up a bit after downing three or four glasses of Elf wine, and began to come up with new ideas – complete with napkin drawings – for products for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. George looked them over very carefully, and I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He was coming up with ideas, and he was beginning to get excited about going back to work.

"I'm thinking about expanding the joke shop into Hogsmeade!" George suddenly announced, midway through dessert. Everyone turned to stare at him. "Hermione gave me the idea earlier today. There's plenty of money left over from the store before the death eaters took over Diagon Alley, and Hermione suggested I buy the building that Zonkos used to be in. It makes sense, doesn't it? After all, Hogwarts students need their joke and prank fix, and what better place to get that then to go to WWW? Really, it's a perfect solution!"

There were plenty of "What a wonderful idea!"s and "Oh, why didn't I think of that first?"s, and I had to grin. It had only been one day, but already George was getting his life turned back around. If only I knew it couldn't be that easy…

"I'm also hoping that maybe a couple of people could manage the shop in Diagon Alley. If I do buy out Zonkos, I want to live in Hogsmeade, until it's up and running. Would anyone be willing to help out?"

"I'll do it," Bill offered immediately. "The curse-breaker training can be a bit…stagnant…at times, and I think working part time in a joke shop would help to keep me on my toes."

"I'll help," Charlie added. "I'm staying in London for awhile, so I might as well have a job."

George's face broke out into a wide beam. "This is fantastic! Tomorrow I'll contact the real estate office in Hogsmeade and see if they'd be willing to sell the Zonkos building to me. Thank you everyone!"

* * *

I had to give Hermione credit. Her idea had stuck with me. And now it might very well become reality. It looked like once in awhile, her bossy, know-it-all-itis was actually put to some good use.

"Thanks for dragging me to see my family," I said once we had apparated back to Diagon Alley. We had landed right outside the shop, since Hermione wasn't going inside. She just wanted to make sure I didn't splinch myself or something. You'd think she was the one who had been apparating for nearly four years, instead of me. Worry-wart. "I thought it would be complete torture, but it turned out to be…sort of fun…"

She smiled and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "You're welcome. And see? I told you it wouldn't be so bad. You should listen to me more often."

"Yeah, maybe…"

"So you're going to contact the real estate office in Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I think I'll apparate down there. Hopefully I won't have to make an appointment to see them. I just need to talk to someone for a couple of minutes."

"Were you serious earlier, about me working at the Hogsmeade WWW?"

I nodded again. "You may be a stick in the mud, but on the occasion you can loosen up and have some fun. Besides, working in a joke shop would be good for you. And I bet that you'll love it."

She rolled her eyes. "I doubt it. But I'll take up your offer anyway. As long as it doesn't get in the way of my schoolwork and prefect duties, I'll work there."

I grinned, and felt my already buoyant spirits lift even more. "Great! I'll let you know as soon as I talk to a real estate wizard."

"They could be a witch," she reminded me.

"All right, all right, you're right. Anyway, I'll contact you as soon as I know whether or not I can buy the building."

She nodded. "Good. And thank you." She glanced at her watch. "I better go. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah, see you later."

And with that, she disapparated, leaving me standing in front of the building, and wondering just how exactly Hermione Granger was going to fit into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

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**_Okay, so for everyone who is reading Trials and Tribulations of a Wizarding War, I will try to get the next chapter up soon! However, I'm about to graduate from high school, so things are probably going to get pretty busy before long. Actually, I spent most of yesterday helping my mom label envelopes, or stick pictures in graduation invitations._**

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**_Science-Fantasy93 ;)_**


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